


Muffled Screams

by EmmaArthur (EchoBleu)



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healthy Communication, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, established malex, ignores season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBleu/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Alex is having nightmares, and Michael is worried.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 133





	Muffled Screams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lire_Casander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Lire!! I hope you like this nice little domestic Malex fic.
> 
> This is set sometime after season 1 and ignores season 2 entirely.

Michael wakes up with a start, to the sound of muffled screams. He sighs internally, forbidding himself from turning in bed to face Alex. It's the second time this night, and it's not even four yet. He stays very still until Alex's panting subsides, giving him a minute to compose himself before he yawns and stretches, finally turning.

“Hey,” he murmurs, seeing Alex's open eyes staring at him. “You're awake.”

“So are you,” Alex points out. For a moment, Michael wonders if he's betrayed himself, but Alex just runs a hand down his bare shoulder. “It's early. You should go back to sleep.”

Michael nods, slowly. He almost wants to say something, to tell Alex that he knows what woke him up, but he doesn't.

He  i s lost. He's been living  with Alex for almost eight weeks now, and things have been going surprisingly well. He half expected to have trouble adjusting, after years of being on his own in his trailer, or that Alex would  feel crowded , or that they would have the same trouble communicating that have held them back for so long, but none of that happened. 

That's not to say that it has been easy. Alex maintains a strict schedule even on his days off that clashes with Michael's need to sleep in. Michael is about as far from domestic as anyone could be, and neither of them can really cook. Suddenly being squished together in the same house, after so many years apart, has been difficult in many way, and not the least because they both agreed not to allow themselves to fall into bed instead of talking about things. Which they haven't been all that successful at.

But globally, it's going great. There has been no talk of taking a step back, of Michael going back to his trailer even for a few nights, though he made it clear that he's ready to do so. He knows Alex probably wouldn't ask him to leave even if he needed him to, at least not frontally, but he hasn't been getting this kind of vibe from him at all.

There's just one bump in the road.

Michael doesn't know exactly why he keeps pushing back the moment when they'll have to address it. He wants to give Alex time, and space to deal with this, he tells himself. The first few nights, Michael freaked out when he woke up to Alex's screams, and Alex seemed more shaken by his panic than by his own nightmares. Nightmares that left him terrified and panting, and rarely let him go back to sleep.

After the third night, Alex stopped screaming and started biting his pillow. It still woke Michael up, but that's when he started to pretend to sleep, instead of making Alex feel guilty. He always meant to address it at some point, when they were both awake and in a good mental place during the day, but he never found the right moment. And now it has gone from once a night to twice or three times, and Michael can't take it anymore.

Either Alex's PTSD is somehow getting worse, or Michael's presence is keeping him from using whatever coping mechanism he needs. Michael needs to talk to him.

He just dreads the moment so much. The way Alex looked at him after waking him up those first nights, that haunted, horrified gaze, he never wants to see that on Alex's face again.

He'll talk to Alex today, he decides. It's Sunday, they have nowhere to be, and all Michael has planned is repairing the leak in the gutter behind the  house . There's no rain on the forecast for at least a week, so it can wait if needed.

Michael turns around in bed and drapes an arm around Alex, casually. Alex is still rigid with tension, his skin clammy. Michael doesn't show him that he's noticed, and he yawns, closing his eyes.

*

Alex is already up when Michael wakes up again. Michael pats the bed to find his side cold, though it's only six. Alex isn't the kind to sleep in, ever. Michael found that out when he moved in.

Getting up sleepily, wearing only a pair of boxers, Michael runs a hand through his hair and walks out of the bedroom, and into Alex's office next door. Alex is sitting on a small bench in the corner he's set up for his daily physical therapy, his crutches propped up on the wall behind him.

“Morning! I was ready to go shower, but you can go first if you want,” he tells Michael, far too enthusiastically for this time of the day.

“No,” Michael yawns. “Need coffee first.”

“Let me,” Alex says, standing up and grabbing one crutch. He hops over to the kitchen, on the other side of the corridor, to fill what's become Michael's mug with coffee. Accepting it, Michael wonders how he can be so cheerful early in the morning with how badly he seems to sleep.

“Thank you,” he nods, yawning again.

He busies himself with making breakfast while Alex is in the shower. Alex comes back out a while later, with a towel around him and nothing else, to get dressed and put on his prosthesis. Michael can't help staring.

“You see something you like?” Alex asks, amused.

They've been going slow in that department, too, but  not  so slow that they've been chaste while sleeping in the same bed for  two months .

Michael puts their plates on the  kitchen  table and sits down. “Yes,” he tells Alex,  watching him put on clothes through the open door  of their bedroom . “But  you got up far too early again, so no morning sex for you.”

“We could go back to bed,” Alex offers.

“Maybe later,” Michael says. He takes a deep breath. “I, uh, I want to talk to you about something.”

He should have waited until Alex was here with him, because Alex visibly tenses in the middle of putting on socks, sitting on the bed. “What is it?” Alex asks cautiously.

“Over breakfast. Finish what you're doing first.”

But it's certainly a mood killer. Alex slips on his pants as fast a he can, and comes out of the bedroom barefoot, even though Michael knows he hates walking directly on his prosthesis.

“Tell me,” he demands, sitting down across from Michael. He doesn't even look at the food.

“You're still having nightmares,” Michael says.

A lex closes off immediately. Michael knew this conversation wouldn't be smooth, but he really hoped to avoid an all-out fight. “I'm not criticizing you or complaining,” he clarifies. “On the contrary. But I'm worried.”

Once again, it's the wrong thing to say. Alex  grits his teeth looks away, staring through the window. “I'm sorry for waking you up,” he says.

“No, no, this isn't about that. I want to help, Alex. I _want_ to wake up for you. I want to hold you and comfort you. I just want you to talk to me.”

Alex works his jaw for a moment.  His eyes dart around−Michael clocks the brief stop on the fridge, where Alex has pinned up his therapist's anxiety checklist−and he takes a breath. “Okay,” he says. “But I don't think I can do it right now.”  He pauses and licks his lips. “I need to think about it, and I need to be more rested so I don't get automatically defensive.”

Michael feels a rush of pride at  Alex , clearly communicating his needs instead of clamming up, so strong that he nearly tears up. It's the hard work in therapy paying up. “I'll be there when you're ready,” he says.

Alex manages a small smile. “Thank you.”

*

Michael purposefully gives Alex some space all morning, by fixing the leaking gutter on his own. It's done faster than he counted on, so he goes ahead and clean s the whole gutter at well, going around the house with his ladder. He can't use his powers here, not more than a touch of them when he feels the ladder move under him, so he does everything by hand. It feels good, keeps him from worrying about the conversation to come.

It's almost lunch time when he finishes. He carefully puts his ladder and his tools away−a concession to Alex's tidiness, because Michael is more of an organized-chaos kind of person.  As he goes to wash his hands in the bathroom, he expects to find Alex either at his desk or at the piano with his headphones  on , but he's not there. Instead, his laptop is gone. Michael frowns and dries his hands.

T he bedroom door is ajar, and sure enough, Alex is on the bed, his laptop beside him. Only he's not using it. Alex is curled up on his side, his head on his arm, like sleep came over him suddenly. His leg is in its usual spot by his nightstand, but he hasn't bothered to pin his pant leg up, so he didn't expect to stay without for long. One earbud is still in his right ear, while the other has fallen on the bed. Michael's heart melts at how adorable Alex looks in his sleep.

“'chael?” Alex asks, stirring. Of course. Michael has yet to manage to sneak up on him, whether Alex is awake or not.

“I'm here,” Michael says. “Want some lunch?”

Alex sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Um, sure. Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“You needed it,” Michael smiles. Alex yawns and nods, still looking embarrassed. “Want to cuddle for a bit before I start cooking?”

Alex tilts his head and gives him a small nod, looking strangely vulnerable.  Michael kicks off his shoes−he really should have done that at the door−and lies down beside him, setting the laptop aside. Alex snuggles closer and sighs.

“I get scared of falling asleep,” he murmurs. “The nightmares, they just won't stop.”

“Do you want to tell me what's in them?” Michael asks.

“It's not always the same thing. I have plenty of trauma to fuel them. Usually explosions. Sometimes my father. Sometimes you.”

“Me?” Michael frowns. Something like dread settles in his stomach.

“Usually you dying, in Caulfield. I never get you out in time. I'd almost...I'd almost gotten rid of the nightmares, before we went there. Not completely, but they weren't as bad anymore, I knew what to do with them. I don't know if it's the explosion that triggered them, or nearly losing you, or−” he trails off, lost.

Michael closes his eyes in dismay.

“I know you have nightmares of it too,” Alex says. “You lost so much that day. I keep thinking that I made a rookie mistake, going there without proper recon, and it cost you so much.”

“Alex, it wasn't your fault!” Michael exclaims, horrified. He had no idea Alex even felt that way.

“I didn't want to burden you with my guilt,” Alex sighs, as if he hasn't even heard him. “You have enough on your shoulder, and it's selfish of me. But...in the other dreams, you decide that you've had enough of me, or you blame me for my family, or−you leave, every time. And then you die, and it's always because of me.” Alex presses his face against his pillow, a few tears escaping his eyes.

“I didn't want you to know,” he continues. “I guess my brain is just...waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I'm not worth it.”

“Alex, look at me.” Michael gently slips a hand on Alex's shoulder and squeezes. “I will never think that. Maybe we'll fight, probably, it might get rocky at times, but I will _never_ thing you're not worth it. I didn't once, in the ten years you were gone. Why would I start now?”

“Because _I_ think I'm not worth it?” Alex offers.

“Well you're wrong. I'm here to stay, okay? You are worth _everything_ to me.”

Michael's hand hasn't left Alex shoulder. Alex makes a little sound, midway between a sob and a whimper, and brings their forehead together. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I want to be the person you deserve.”

“You already are. You're already far more than I deserve, Alex. All I want is you, okay. You, as you are. Not some perfect, dream version, _you._ ”

“Okay,” Alex murmurs. “I want you, too. Just you.”

“Will you let me hold you, next time you have a nightmare?” Michael asks, pushing a little because it feels right. “Show you that I'm not going anywhere?”

Alex swallows. “I'll try,” he says. “It's not…sometimes touch doesn't feel right, when it's bad. But I'll try.”

“I don't have to touch you. Just let me be there for you.”

“Okay,” Alex whispers. 

Michael runs a finger down Alex's face, slowly. He thinks about getting up to cook, but he feels exhausted. Emotional conversations take a lot out of him. So he doesn't move, cuddling with Alex like he dreamed for ten years he'd get to do one day. He's not going anywhere.

He ha s everything he wants right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day! I'm also over on [Tumblr](https://emma-arthur.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat.


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